The Undubbed Crime
by FluffleNeCharka
Summary: CH6 UP! While patrolling a Pokemon convention, Ingrid has a flashback that keeps her from going back on duty. A few Pokemon fans use this to their advantage, and the only way to beat them is for Ingrid to admit a past crime.
1. Act One: Flashs of a 'mon

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. Not even this computer. I do not own pokemon or Fillmore! So there!

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It was the day of the Sixth Annual Pokemon Convention at X Middle School.

Fillmore and Ingrid were there at six thirty AM, sharp, to begin a three hour shift patrolling the giant convention room. It seemed like everyone in the whole school was there. Some were dressed as pokemon, some were dressed in pokemon brand clothing, and others were protesting already. Fillmore had to admit that, as far as these kind of things went, it _was_ pretty impressive: Every single pokemon had its own stand, there were all kind of neat things to buy (Ingrid bought a Hindu Pikachu stapler) and there was even a stand selling food in the shape of pokemon. For a man who knew nothing of the game, Fillmore mused, he could really get used to the giant Clefairy cakes.

"You know," Ingrid said with a raised eyebrow, "That sugar high is going to wear off precisely forty minutes before our shift ends. Not only are we not supposed to eat on duty, but now we're going to be down an officer for almost an hour."

Fillmore smiled. "That was a _good_ fairy-thing! You worry to much, Ingrid. What could possibly happen during a Pokemon convention? A mad Pikachu? Jigglypuff holding Principal Folsom hostage?"

Ingrid sighed and rubbed her head, but an affectionate look was in her green eyes. No way she could ever get mad at Fillmore. As they walked their route, they were actually having a fair amount of fun. Fillmore noticed that Ingrid seemed almost happy. And in the open? Le gasp! But then, suddenly, her smiled vanished. Her booted footfalls silenced behind him. He turned, and found her paler than usual, eyes glued to an exhibit. Concerned, he stepped closer. She didn't notice.

"Ingrid?" Fillmore asked, snapping his fingers. "Yo, Ingrid Third?"

He stared at her before following her line of vision. Standing next to her, tilting his head at her angle, and looking forward, he saw the source of her unease. It was a bright, tall tent-like stall, red and blue and yellow striped. On it was a picture of a weird, very angular aqua and pink creature. Beneath it was a sign that proclaimed in red and blue and yellow neon: ELECTRIC SOLDIER PORYGON and DENNOU SENSHI PORIGON.

"Ingrid, what's this about?" Fillmore asked. Suddenly, she bolted past him and clear out of the doors, hands clasped over her mouth. She knocked him over in the process. Fillmore pulled out his walkie, "Anza, send a couple of new patrollers down here, fast." Then he followed his partner.

The black haired girl was hunched over a trash can, vomiting. Cornelius was there in a second, holding back her hair and supporting her until she was finished. His thick eyebrows knit together. What was going on? Finally, Ingrid quit shaking and stood upright. He released his safety hold on her hair and instead put a hand on her shoulder. Two very watery green eyes gazed back at him, struggling to hide the major driving emotion of fear.

"Ingrid, what's this about?" Fillmore repeated. She glanced away. "C'mon, we're partners. We're _friends_. I think I deserve to know why you knocked me over and puked."

"It's… it's…" Ingrid turned away, and took a deep breath. "I should've known it would've been there. All the other pokemon had their own stalls and everything. Even goofy little ones with no power." She seemed to be talking to herself, something Ingrid Third rarely did. Fillmore was beginning to get alarmed.

"Ingrid, what-?"

"I'm fine," she said clearly, pushing him away with one hand, "I just can't finish this shift, okay? I'll meet you back at the Safety Patrol."

Fillmore noted that though she left quickly, she staggered every few steps. He put a hand to his chin thoughtfully. Now, who did he know who had enough information about Pokemon to tell him what a Porygon was? Doubtless he could find someone at the convention, but he'd be trouble if he called for new patrollers and went in seemingly to browse. He walked while he thought. Fillmore finally made his way to the Safety Patrol HQ, and walked in out of habit. Danny and Anza were having a Pokemon card battle. And Danny was losing badly. Curious, Fillmore walked over. Maybe one of these two could tell him what he needed to know.

"Anza?"

"Yeah?" he asked, not looking up from where he was kicking a panicky Danny's butt.

"How much do you know about something called Electric Soldier Porygon?"

In response, Anza froze and Danny screamed.


	2. Act Two: Random Robbery Precise Problems

For disclaimer, see chapter 1.

Thanks for the review! I hope you enjoy this, and I'm sorry if this is a bit heavy on the dialogue.

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For a second, there was silence. Then Anza whirled around in his chair, blue eyes sharp and serious. "Do you mean the banned episode that had Porygon in it? Pokemon episode number 38? Fillmore, _I don't want to talk about that._" He looked his companion up and down, "If you're so curious, ask Ingrid about it. That woman has forgotten more about Pokemon than I'll ever know. She's gotta know about this."

Fillmore sighed and rubbed his temples. "I didn't get the chance. Anza, what is that episode about? Is there something special about it?"

Danny shuddered, and Anza glowered at him, but the two remained totally silent. After a moment, Karen Tehama sighed dramatically. "Get over here Fillmore. I'm showing you this once, and only once." Made serious by her tone of voice, he walked over to where Karen had her computer turned on. The screen was set to show some sort of video feed. She turned to him, "Ready?" He nodded. The video started.

At first, he only saw a normal Japanese girl, maybe ten years old. Then he realized that in front her, out of sight, was a TV. She was huddled barely a foot from it, watching so intently that the snacks beside her remained untouched. The sound was fuzzy, but some shouting was heard. The word 'Porygon' caught Cornelius's attention. The TV show continued. The screen must have been doing something odd, because for about ten seconds light played all over her face. Then her eyes rolled back her head. She fell over, sat up, swayed, vomited, and fell over again. For a little while, she shook, especially at the elbows and the knees. Then she went motionless. The sound byte said something; he caught the end of the sentence, "Concludo Dennou Senshi Porygon…"

Fillmore turned to Tehama, "What am I seeing here?"

She replied, "You're seeing what that episode of Pokemon can do to kids who are prone to epileptic seizures. There's a sequence of light in there that caused almost 700 kids to faint, vomit, get dizzy, fall over, scream, have migraines – you name it, this thing caused it. The Japanese government banned it from ever airing again so that this," she gestured to the now mumbling girl, "Wouldn't ever happen again. And that's all I know."

Fillmore paused, "Was it ever shown in America?"

Tehama shook her head. "No. There was a dub version in the works – they were gonna cut out half of the light flashes and slow the ones that were left WAY down – but public outcry made 'em cancel. You can't find it on the internet, either. If you try, you just get reaction shots like what I showed you. As far as I know, an English version doesn't exist."

Fillmore stared at the girl, whose mother was kneeling over her, shaking her. There was no response. Did this happen to Ingrid? Had Ingrid Third lived in Japan and been one of the 700 kids who saw this, who this happened to? It was a logical explanation, but his gut said no, that wasn't it. There were holes in that theory. Ingrid Third had never lived in Japan to the extent of his knowledge, and that was a lot of knowledge. And flashing lights had never bugged her before. Fillmore told Tehama thanks and was about to leave when Vallejo burst out of his office.

"There's been a robbery at the Pokemon Convention! We need to get down there now!

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Fillmore was baffled. Everyone was. Apparently, a bunch of guys dressed in Pokemon suits had stolen 400 Clefairy sugar cakes, 30 gallons of Magmar Fizzy Pop, and 685 Giant Spinda cushions. They had loaded it up onto two hijacked Gyrados carts, and driven away, holding one grade schooler hostage with a Shellder hot glue gun.

It seemed impossible that two huge, low speed vehicles could have vanished along with that much cargo, so fast. And the fifth grade girl was still missing. The Safety Patrol had just finished taping off and clearing out the convention when Principal Folsom arrived. Vallejo sighed and told Anza and Fillmore to see if anything else was missing; to check with the stall owners. Fillmore didn't need to be told twice. He headed straight for the Porygon tent.

The owner was a small girl, dressed in a Pikachu suit. The hood fell over her face and she kept pushing it back up, revealing slightly golden eyes and an explosion of blonde hair. "I'm Tammy," she chirped, holding out a hand. "I'll help anyway I can, officer! Those weirdos are wrecking my business!"

Fillmore stated firmly, "First off, tell me what exactly your business is. For documentation purposes, you know."

The girl nodded, "Sure! C'mon in!" Fillmore ducked his head and followed her inside. Multiple TV's lined the walls, as well as several charts with the airing dates of some episodes on them. "I have managed to get a hold of the dubbed, safe versions of Dennou Senshi Porigon, Yureru Shima no Tatakai, and even Holiday Hi-Jynx. They've had the flashes, swearwords, and racial stuff removed so that everyone can enjoy them!" She smiled. "I have other episodes, too, like-"

Fillmore held up a hand, "I don't need to know the exact episodes. I just need to know if anybody's tried to steal anything or if someone has been threatening you."

Tammy shrugged. "Not unless you count the protesters. They don't want Dennou Senshi Porigon to be played. I've showed them that the energy flashes have been cut to three seconds, but they still insisted that it was dangerous. But they've kinda backed off."

"Why's that?" Fillmore asked curiously.

"Because I always brighten the room, have the person sit as far away from the TV's as possible, and I warn them about the flashes. That way there's almost no risk," Tammy explained. "It's a pain in the neck, but if it helps calm people down, that's ok by me. And some kids really did need to be warned. Just this morning, Ryo's friend Amy had to leave because of it."

Back to business, Fillmore decided. "Where did you last see Ryo and Amy?"

"She went over to the Magmar stand for some pop," Tammy replied. "Amy was buying, I think. But I don't know what happened after that. I had some customers."

Fillmore thanked her and left, beginning the difficult task of questioning endless people. No one had seen what exact Pokemon the crooks were dressed up as, no one had seen Amy either, and no one knew where the carts had gone. Fillmore couldn't even figure out which direction the perps went in. All he knew was that they had apparently taken exact amounts of everything, leaving hundreds of better merchandise behind. Anza didn't have any better information, either.

"How's it going?" the blue eyed Safety Patroller asked, handing Cornelius a cup of Magmar Fizzy Pop. "I can't find out anything about anything around here."

Fillmore sighed and slumped against a wall, sipping the spicy, fizzy tea-like drink. After a moment, he smiled. "This is good stuff." Then he frowned. "I found out that the Card Stalls were robbed, too, but they wouldn't let me in because they saw me talking with the Game Stall owners."

Anza grinned. "Well, they let me in. I checked there first. They're missing every Porygon and Colorless Energy card that they had."

Fillmore perked up. "Maybe this has something to do with the card game?"

Anza shook his head. "'Fraid not, Fillmore. Porygon and Colorless Energies aren't very valuable. Especially not together. Danny took pictures of them earlier; I looked. You can't use Porygon effectively without Porygon2, and they don't sell those. The Energies are useful, but not without more pokemon."

Tehama joined them, looking exhausted. "Vallejo and I just got through talking with Folsom. She's mad." Karen groaned. "I don't get it. All this stuff is random junk. None of it is useful together. Fizzy Pop, cards, and slow moving fish-shaped vehicles? What's the point?"

None of them had an answer.

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In case you're wondering, yes, Dennou Senshi Porigon actually did cause 685 children to have seizures and most of them _were_ hospitalized. Go to www. wikipedia . org, and type in pokemon. Go to the 'banned episodes of pokemon section', and it's listed there, along with Yureru Shima no Tatakai and Holiday Hi-Jynx.


	3. Act Three: Modified crime

Ingrid tenderly opened the box she kept in her locker. She had never opened it since she'd been at X; she put it there because she didn't want to leave it at home. It was a heavy metal box, with a thick lid and a lock on it. White in color, it was always cold. Carefully, she unlocked it. Inside were seemingly endless CD's and Dvd's and a couple of cassette tapes.

With a sigh, she ran her hands over the rows. They had been alphabetized, numerated, organized, and replayed more times than she could count. The day she got these was the day one part of her life ended and another began. After a long moment, she put them back into the corner of her locker, relocked the box, and took a deep breath.

In her hands she held one of the mini-rom CD's. With a quick spin on her heel, she headed for Safety Patrol Headquarters.

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"Ingrid!" Fillmore exclaimed, standing up. "You feeling better?"

"No," the pale girl responded darkly. "Fillmore, can we talk for a minute?"

"Sure," he replied, "I just finished my set of paperwork on the Pokemon case."

Ingrid looked visibly shaken at the words 'Pokemon case' but said nothing else, except, "The fifth grade girl that disappeared is currently in the hospital, Fillmore. Along with a friend of hers." As the Safety Patrol gathered en mass, she held out some papers. "This is all the official documentation. Apparently, Ryo DeCosta was knocked out and Amy Smith had an… an epileptic seizure."

Tehama came in at that moment, looking exhausted. Vallejo was right behind her, rubbing his head. Neither of them looked too good, but immeadiately Vallejo grabbed the papers from Ingrid. His expression darkened and he muttered something about Folsom not liking this.

"Everyone, meet back here in one hour for a briefing. There's something about this that adds up the wrong way."

With that said, everyone slowly returned to their normal jobs, although they were a lot quieter than usual. Anza grabbed his Pokemon cards and left to go undercover at the card stalls. Tehama's fingers became their usual blur at her computer. Danny went into another room to develop some photos. And Ingrid stood there, staring at the ground, nervously twiddling her thumbs – something Ingrid Third did not usually do. Fillmore had never been the greatest at sensing emotions, but he didn't have to be to know she was still feeling uneasy. He grabbed his sash, put the paperwork in a file, and a second later the two were in the hall.

"Ingrid, what-?" She silenced him by holding up a hand.

"Just trust me for a second, okay? I can't talk about this where someone might hear," Ingrid sighed. "And I need to be somewhere where I can run if you freak out on me."

Fillmore snorted. "Fat chance. If the Hindu Pikachu stapler didn't freak me out, nothing else will."

Icy green eyes told with wordlessly that this was not the time for jokes, and his smile vanished. They walked in silence for a while. Not their usual, companionable silence, either. An awkward, almost dark kind of silence that reminded Fillmore of the times he'd told Ingrid about the stuff he used to pull back in the day. Suddenly, he felt a little uneasy. Was Ingrid about to confide one of her stunts to him? He knew her; he knew that if she really put her mind to it, Ingrid could've been the best crook there was. He knew she could get pretty cold when she was mad. Pretty merciless. His pace quickened. He stared at her apathetic pace and wished that he knew what was going on in that sharp mind of hers. The silence seemed to be maddening.

Finally, they arrived at the old AV room. Ingrid unlocked it in her typical fashion, then let him in first. Inside, he took a seat at the one dingy table and watched her with mounting apprehension as she inserted a very small CD into the DVD player, turned off the lights in the room, and let him watch something he'd really rather not know about. Something that just about wrecked their friendship altogether.

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They were both late for the briefing. They sat as far apart as possible, not even glancing at each other as Tehama, Anza, and Vallejo made the presentation. Folsom stood in the back, along with Tammy. Tension filled the air. This was no longer about some Fizzy Pop and some cards. Amy Smith had had an _epileptic seizure_. That was grounds for a lawsuit if the perps weren't caught, but also, this was the sign of a truly twisted mind in the confines of X.

It was about to get even more twisted.

"As most of you know, either from me or the news," Tehama began, "Dennou Senshi Porigon, an episode of the once mega-popular TV show Pokemon, was never aired in the USA because it caused 685 children to, well,-"

"They puked, they shook, they fainted, they screamed, they had headaches, and they had to call ambulances," Anza summed up. He pressed a button on a remote, and a picture of Porygon popped up. "This Pokemon was never shown in the American series. Some fans wanted to get Americanized versions of the episode over here. A couple of them did, mostly by illegal means. But that wasn't good enough for some kids. We've caught four people this week with unedited, dubbed versions of it." He turned to Tehama, "Play it."

"This is the part of the episode that causes the seizures," she explained. "Danny actually found this when he was searching Amy Smith's locker. It's been pixilated, slowed down, and half the flashes are gone, but apparently this caused her to pass out."

The image was blurry. Fillmore could barely see the main characters, but the blue-and-red explosion sequence was hard to miss. Tehama stopped it halfway through. Fillmore adjusted his glasses, and Ingrid leaned forward. Folsom frowned. Tammy looked almost confused.

"If we slow the next part down to one sixteenth speed," Tehama said shakily, "You can see someone's tampered with it. There used to be split-second frames where it was black, in between the red and the blue. Now, we have yellow-purple flashes in there. The reason most of the 685 children before recovered in less than a day was because of the black – for just that little bit, their brain activity went down. But without it, it goes up into irregular patterns without any rest. Shortened or not, this is a lot worse, just disguised as safe."

Vallejo stood up, and someone flicked on the lights. The projector powered down. "People, this is serious. This was modified to put kids in the hospital. At the very least, knock 'em out. And Third found out that Amy Smith was taking Pre-Pre Algebra here at X. That teacher grades on a curve. Without her, everyone has a guaranteed pass. This is somebody's way of getting kids out of the way. Since it's almost impossible to know who's prone to these kind of seizures, we got a problem."

There was a pause. No one knew what to say. Fillmore glanced over at Ingrid, who was sitting stone still in her chair. Tammy, for a girl in a Pikachu suit, looked dead serious. Folsom stared in shock. For a long, long time (or so it seemed), nobody moved or spoke. Vallejo gazed out at them thoughtfully.

"I want two volunteers to go undercover. There's always been an underground, anime-based crime ring here at X. For a long time, we couldn't touch 'em. But now, we can, and we need to. We have to stop this episode before it enters circulation in the mainstream. Any volunteers?"

Fillmore's hand shot up, but Ingrid's stayed down. Some of the members glanced at her uncertainly. A soft murmur went through the room. Danny started to raise his hand, but Tehama grabbed it and shook her head at him. No doubt he really thought he could do it. Major doubts that he could. After an uncomfortable moment, Anza raised his hand. With that, it was settled. The next day, they would go undercover. Anza would help Fillmore learn about Pokemon a little; hopefully, one didn't need to be a total master of the game to do this.

Folsom marched up to the front of the room grimly. "Usually, I'd threaten to turn this office into a faculty yoga studio. However, this time, I'm going to transfer you across town if you don't solve this, and solve it FAST!" With that, she departed, leaving a very stunned group of Patrollers in her wake.

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I'll explain what Fillmore saw in the next chapter. Just thought a cliffhanger would help brighten up your lives.

Dudes, thanks for the reviews (gives ultra-hug-super cookies to reviewers) I love you guys!


	4. Act Four: Complications, anyone?

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Cornelius Fillmore was rarely in a bad mood.

Usually, he was very mellow. He could handle a lot of pressure without snapping. But today, he could barely keep his mind focused on what Anza was saying. And the complex-ness of the game didn't help his mood any. Types, levels, attacks, special abilities, stats – it was all a foreign language to him. Eventually, Anza just handed him a bunch of manuals, handbooks, and a couple of printouts. Fillmore was beyond relieved. He could study these at home, after he'd cooled off a little. Books usually didn't work well for him, but today it was the opposite.

When he got home, he marched up to his room, ignoring the smells of dinner. It registered with his mind that he was hungry, ravenously so, but somehow he didn't want to eat. It was hard to describe. Vaguely, he heard his mother say something, but he tuned that out. And he never did that; not since his delinquent days. Fillmore threw his backpack down, and flopped down on his bed. Sitting cross-legged, he turned every book there to a page about Porygon. No surprise, he thought bitterly, that every single book contained information on it. After a while, he just sort of leaned back against his headboard and stared at the semi circle of books all around him. He shuddered. It was like watching a car wreck again and again, right in front of his eyes.

He honestly didn't feel it when he started crying. It was more like one of two tears just trickling down his face than an actual sob. It didn't matter. He stared at the pictures and words before him. They blurred together. Fillmore wondered vaguely if this case was just some awful nightmare. Maybe he'd been hit on the head, and he was really in a coma. This was not, could not be reality. Reality wasn't like this. In the real world, he always managed to solve things while working _with_ Ingrid. Now every brain cell he had was telling him to go against her. This was insanity. Pure insanity!

"Cornelius?" It was his mom at the door.

Something snapped at that moment. No, actually, it had snapped when Ingrid had shown him that dammed mini-rom. But the awful cauldron of emotions in him that had been held in by shock and duty now flooded forth. With horrible, uncharacteristic rage, he leapt to his feet and seized one of the book. "GO AWAY!" he shouted, shocking her as much as himself. "JUST GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

The book slammed into the door, less than an inch from where her head was. For an instant, she stared. Then the door closed. Weak and sick to his stomach all of a sudden, Cornelius slumped down on the bed. Why had he done that? He never yelled at his mom. Not even when he was a crook! Sure, they fought once in a while, but he never yelled. It wasn't part of his personality – it wasn't part of who he was. It wasn't part of the old or new Fillmore. It was something else.

He looked at the thrown book, lying open on the floor. It was still open to the pages about Porygon and Porygon2. He groaned and grabbed a pillow, holding it to his face and breathing deeply. Then Fillmore started pacing the length of his room, trying in vain to study the rules of Pokemon. It was pointless. In an hour, he couldn't have told the difference between a Water pokemon and a Fire pokemon. After a while he quit trying. Quickly, he pulled out the print outs on the seizures. He reread the symptoms and the numbers over and over. He groaned audibly. This wasn't fair, this wasn't real, this wasn't happening!

"Son," his father said, opening the door with a serious look on his face, "We need to talk."

Cornelius turned to him with the saddest, most pained expression on his face that his father had ever seen. He was at a loss for words. His father kneeled down and picked up the Pokemon handbook. He skimmed over the Porygon's profiles. In the margins, Tehama had made arrows pointing to the attacks that had caused the explosion that had triggered the seizures. At the bottom, Anza had written, 'Price: 9999', because that's how much it cost in two of the games. A small newspaper clipping showing a five year old in a hospital bed was tucked in between the pages as a bookmark. The news caption proclaimed that the 'Porygon crisis is not confined to Japan'.

His father turned to him with a confused, solemn expression. "I want to know what's going on, right now. You know you can come to me and your mom for advice. You can talk to us – you can talk to _me_. Do you have any idea what time it is?"

The suddenness of the last question made Cornelius blink. "Who cares?" he asked bitterly, turning away from his dad with his arms crossed, "It don't matter."

His dad asked softly, "What is going on, son? The last time you were like this, your partner in crime ratted you out for a Twinkie."

Usually this would've gotten a smile from Cornelius. Instead, he just sighed and turned to his dad, although their eyes still didn't meet. "Dad, Ingrid… she…" he took a deep breath. "She showed me this thing at school… we've got this case… there's this episode of Pokemon…"

He trailed off, and looked at the floor. He couldn't honestly manage a coherent sentence right now. His hands clenched. He shook. For a moment, his father wondered if his son would faint, or start screaming again. Cornelius took another deep, shuddering breath, the kind people take when they're steeling themselves up for something. Uncertain silence filled the room, making it seem like the rest of the world had disappeared. All that existed was now, here.

Then, suddenly, the story came spilling out from Cornelius Fillmore's lips like a tidal wave.

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Enter Flashback mode

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The DVD player took only a second to load. The TV wasn't big screen or good quality, but the images could not have been more vivid if they'd been played on a blimp. As the small sign at the top turned automatically to play, Ingrid rested against the wall right by the door. Later, Fillmore realized she'd had one hand on the doorknob at all times. As soon as the mini-rom played, he realized _why_.

A very different, much younger Ingrid Third was on the screen. Apparently, she was in her living room. "Pierre, why are you recording this?" she snapped, and a disembodied voice muttered something about 'future reference'. Fillmore didn't catch all of it. But the younger Ingrid did, flipping her long hair and running a gloved hand across a TV. "Well, just don't get in the way." Ingrid left the room for a moment, and returned carrying a kid.

The boy looked about the same age as Ingrid – which was about ten – but he was a lot stronger. He was tall and well muscled, with dark brown hair, tan skin, and deep grey-green eyes. He was glaring. If he hadn't been bound and gagged, he probably would've _killed_ her. Ingrid tied him to a chair with practiced skill, then removed the mouth gag. Her eyes were cold; frozen.

"Alright, Berton, let's hear it now." Ingrid leaned closer. "What did you do with LeafGreen and FireRed? Four hundred versions don't just vanish into thin air."

Berton snorted, "Like I'm telling you! There's no telling what you'll-"

Ingrid held up a hand for silence. For the first time, Fillmore noticed that she'd taken her gloves off, and her right wrist had some sort of marking drawn on it in permanent marker. He squinted. Bertob did likewise, then paled. About that time, Fillmore realized it was a Porygon.

"Are you familiar with Dennou Senshi Porigon?" the strange girl asked softly, eyes never leaving his face, "After all, you're pretty versed on Jap-Pokemon events."

Berton stared at her for a long time. He looked contemplative. "There's no way you have it. And there's no way you'd use it. And there's no way to know if I'd react during those seconds, if I had any reaction at all." He was trying reassure himself. But Ingrid's cynical smile destroyed that idea.

"Oh, I do, I will, there is, and you will," she stated simply, flicking the scene on with a remote.

Berton stared as she flicked on the TV to the now familiar Porygon sequence. His face was nothing short of horrified. This time, however, the scene had been modified in a different way. The black flashes were still there. But now it was played on a loop. The light replayed again and again and again, for almost five minutes solid before he broke.

Immeadiately, the kid began to spasm. He groaned. He panicked. He coughed like he was going to puke. His eyes rolled back in his head. Ingrid stood by, watching. He kicked and failed for a moment, then his body went still as he breathed deeply. He stared at the screen with sick fascination as he visibly lost control of his body. His eyes crossed and unfocused and he swayed. He say bolt upright before finally gasping, "I'll tell you! I GIVE!"

It took a long time for him to breathe normal and to quit shaking. After a moment, he murmured, "The Safety Patrol put them in the fourth basement. By the cooler."

"Thanks," Ingrid said, then turned on the flashing sequence again.

Berton didn't have time to look away or prepare himself for it. He passed out soon after, shaking. The younger Ingrid sighed and turned off the TV. Without looking back at Yukio, she strolled out of the room, remarking to Pierre to 'warm up my room, it's cold in the clubhouse'. With that, there was a nod that caused the camera to shake, and then the image faded.

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End Flashback mode.

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Fillmore finished telling his story just as suddenly as he'd started. His fists were clenched and his dad was willing to bet anything that underneath those thick glasses, tears were brewing. Neither of them spoke. Outside, lightning flashed. The wind howled. Good, Fillmore thought weakly, it wasn't a beautiful night. Because his world was no longer the beautiful, peaceful thing it had once been. It was a nightmare.

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The next day, Fillmore was only feeling a little better, but he put on a brave face for the undercover job.

Anza had spent twenty minutes that morning making sure that Fillmore knew the basic type match ups and how to play the card game. That, he insisted, was all he needed. Anza also lent Fillmore a Pokemon Sapphire Version, because most pokemon fanatics had the games. Fillmore was nervous as could be, but there was a part of him that was starting to get psyched. That old thrill from something that could blow up at any minute was returning. It was a feeling from the bygone days of robbery. He could do this.

They went down to an 'unsafe' part of one of X's lesser used buildings. Used almost entirely by artists and doll making clubs who were only there at night, the rest of the day the small cottage like hut sat and rotted. Which gave criminals ample reason to want to use the basement of that hut. The basement led to a narrow, hallway like tunnel leading from X's main building to the hut's basement to a dozen other places. In honor of several places in the Pokemon games, it had been named 'The Underground'.

Fillmore knew that, in the games, The Underground was a place for Pokemon to be sold illegally, for people to hide from the police, and for smuggling things from one part of the Pokemon world to the other. The X Middle School version was not that far off. There were dozens of illegal things flying around from kid to kid, there were some kids who hid down there to avoid the Safety Patrol, and Fillmore didn't doubt that kids used this as a way to pass high-importance notes to each other.

Vaguely, he wondered why Vallejo let this place continue on.

Anza knew The Underground in and out. Fillmore knew it not only by how Anza didn't need to look to know where he was going, but there was something else. That same, almost criminal way of knowing a territory inside and out. Fillmore knew the look and the walk; he'd had that same look and that same walk for most his seventh grade year. It was something that came with time, with careful memorization of each place, each little landmark. And Fillmore was secretly impressed; just being here was making him nervous, but Anza was totally calm.

Their 'disguises' weren't that unusual. Anza had taken off his jacket for the first time since Fillmore knew him. Now dressed in a black short sleeve shirt, brown jeans, and a brown beret that hid his eyes, Fillmore saw for the first time that Anza had a tattoo of a Pokemon on his arm. It was a dark looking dog-like creature that was black with blue rings on it's head, tail, and legs, and it had red eyes. Fillmore wanted to ask what it was, but the warning look Anza had given him when he started to said that it wasn't a pleasant topic.

Fillmore had opted for his old thug uniform, minus the toothpick. Anza had groaned and rolled his eyes at the sight, muttering something about overacting. He wasn't a morning person by any means, and this was not a good way to start off the morning.

They entered a dingy little room off to the side of the basement that had once been a storage room. Chairs, papers, and toys had been stacked haphazardly everywhere, and the people within the room had made no move to clean it out. Rather, they sat on top of boxes, cushions, or just perched themselves on something. Most of the twenty kids were at least ten feet up. Sitting in a semi circle, all of them had something that hid their faces in some way. They sat in shadows. They hid their eyes. They wore masks. On a table in front of them sat controllers to multiple gaming systems that had been rigged up to some cheap TVs.

Immeadiately, one leapt to his feet and was examining Anza intently. Fillmore studied him. This kid was obviously the leader. There was just that kind of presence he had to him. Taller than Fillmore by half an inch, he had tan skin and wispy dark brown hair that fell to his shoulders. A pulled down white cap hid his eyes from view, and the guy had a strange smile on his face. A 'I-know' smile.

"This is him?" the kid asked Anza, who nodded once. The boy studied Fillmore, "Interesting. He hasn't got a clue about anything." With that, the boy went back to his cushy seat directly in front of the TV and said three words that made Fillmore's blood run cold and his eyes widen.

"Berton, test him."

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Author's Notes: Heh, sorry it took so long to post. My computer broke down, poor baby. But it's kind of a longer chapter. I try, okay?

There's no need for me to compete to be the King of Cliffhangers, or the KING of anything. I'm a girl. We'll share the throne.


	5. Act Five: Tests of Two kinds

was a pale kid, the sick kind of pale that made Fillmore want to rush for the school nurse. He was dressed in all black, like some sort of Grim Reaper. He gave off an air of emptiness, and silently grabbed Cornelius by the air and starting leading him out the door. Anza started to object, but was silenced by a look by the leader of the group. Fillmore knew that look and stopped struggling. That posture was a delinquent one, a 'stop or I'll beat the s--t out of you' gesture. There was something creepy about that kid, and the Safety Patrol had no trouble believing he'd hurt Anza. So he allowed himself to be rushed out of the room and pulled along the hallway.

The next thing Fillmore knew, he was being led into a dark room and forced to sit, bright light suddenly blasting his eyes. He knew from Anza that it was a standard interrogation technique. The light disoriented the person into giving answers they'd usually keep to themselves, and on exams a light flashed into someone's eyes could make them fail.

He gulped. Fillmore had no clue about Pokemon… he was doomed.

"Question one! What first generation pokemon is both Steel and Rock type?"

He bit his lip. He hadn't even remembered to read up on Steel type. Brilliant. Fantastic. And what was worse, he didn't know any pokemon's names. Fillmore began to sweat. Okay, there had to be a way to figure this out. First generation… those were the original pokemon. There were only 151 of them. Only? He thought in disbelief. Man, he was doomed. Anza was the Pokemon expert. Anza was the one who could name off every pokemon in alphabetical order with his eyes closed.

Cornelius paused. He couldn't remember any Steel type first generation Pokemon.

Wait…

"There aren't any Steel types in the First generation?" he tried not to make it sound like a question.

"Correct." Fillmore let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and managed a grim smile. "Now you only have forty nine questions left to go."

The smile vanished.

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Ingrid sat, her head resting on her arms, on the verge of tears.

Usually she focused on school at least a little. Enough for her photographic memory to work, anyway. But now, she was too drained to focus. Why had she shown Fillmore what she'd done? Why? The question swirled around her head, along with why she did it.

But there wasn't a lot of trouble figuring _that_ out. Greed. She had seen something she wanted, and a way to get it. That way may have been illegal, wrong, and hurt a lot of people. It hadn't mattered to her at the time. All that mattered was getting one of those new, illegal, Japanese, crisp, beautiful versions for herself. Ingrid didn't sort of like or dislike anything. She either loved something or secretly hated it.

Pokemon was her strength. She was mind-bendingly good at it. Ingrid didn't just know the rules by heart, she knew them by sound, effect, and name. Everyone at her school had loved her for it. Ingrid was a prodigy. If her team was all Level 5 Fire pokemon and she was fighting someone else with Level 15 Water pokemon, she always won. Ingrid always knew how to overcome anything. If she was out powered, out matched, and the type match up was against her, she would still win. It always seemed like a matter of life or death to her.

Always…

It was hard to say when the obsession had turned violent. There seemed to be a pattern, the raven haired girl thought, to her hobbies and friends. Sooner or later, she did something extreme and that would be the end. Except, with Pokemon, she hadn't been able to find an end. She had all the games. She still watched the TV show even though it had gone down hill. Ingrid had never let go of Pokemon. It was similar to how she still knew how to unlock doors.

The skills were engraved into her mind. With that came the guilt, later on, of causing kids to actual have seizures. Berton Yukio was one of many, if not one of the milder ones. After what she did then, Ingrid Third had changed. She was still a rebel. But after hospitalizing someone, she was only a rebel. Not a fighter, and not a thief. She knew she'd be haunted until she died with the guilt. In her mind's eye, the seizures replayed themselves. It made her nauseous just to think about Porygon. It baffled her that she could have been so cruel.

Showing Fillmore what she'd done was an insane move.

What had she hoped to accomplish? Until then, no living person knew what she'd done. Pierre had died, the kids who had the seizures didn't know who she was, and the last she'd heard, Berton was in a psychotherapy center for children. If Ingrid Third had wanted to, she could have taken her secret to the grave.

She didn't want to. A part of her wanted to say it; to scream at everyone that she was guilty, she'd done it. She'd committed that awful crime. Fillmore was her friend. Ingrid knew she could trust him not to say anything. Even now, when he hated her, he would never tell. He knew what it was like to keep a terrible secret inside, to have it tear him up. Still, the logical part of her knew that really, what she'd wanted was for him to be okay with what she'd done. Ingrid wanted someone to soothe her, to tell her it was okay and they didn't blame her for it.

But she didn't blame Fillmore for avoiding her.

She knew what that shock could do to someone. Ingrid had nightmares constantly about what it would be like to tell someone. She knew it wasn't a truth anyone wanted to hear: a game had driven Ingrid to be nearly lethal.

Ingrid closed her eyes, then opened them and raised her hand. "Mr. Nelson, I feel dizzy. Can I go to the Nurse's office?" It wasn't a lie. She genuinely swayed and grabbed her desk for support. But she had no intention to go to the Nurse's office.

Advanced Algebra or not, she was ditching this class.

She and Fillmore needed to have a talk.

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Author's Notes: Sorry I didn't update. I just got preoccupied with my other stories, then my great grandma died, then I had to go to church camp… bleck! Anyway, I'll update once I get two more reviews.


	6. Act Six: The End of Two Trials

Author's Notes: Yes, I'm back, and yes, this chapter starts out a lot like the last one. But don't worry, there really WON'T be long absences between chapters now, and I'm going to go back and fix my typos. I've recently gone through a 'Imma gonna pick up all my old fics and finish em' spree. So rest assured, if it kills me, this story will be finished. I promise.

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Guilt.

It is a monstrosity. No matter how little or how much time is devoted to thinking about it, Ingrid Third finds that it only grows within her. At the time it was a flash of heat and a bit of her mind whispering 'this is wrong'. Now it is a full blown wave of sickness, a headache, a series of nightmarish images flashing before her eyes, and a prevailing sense of being tainted. She knew that her day of reckoning was going to come, one day. She knew that this would happen, but...

But like every doomed person, every person who has ever been cornered against a wall, she desperately wished she had one more day, one more hour, one more minute. No amount of time could ease the nervous feeling welling within her. Because it was not admitting that she had done it that was the issue. It was getting Fillmore to see that she was sorry. She hadn't been in her right mind at the time, she was a different person back then, and she _took full responsibility for what happened_. There was no undoing the past. She knew that. She knew she was in the wrong, unjustifiable, and had hurt people without a reason.

And since that day, not a night went by where she did not lay awake thinking about this.

Ingrid Third knew she was guilty as she searched for Fillmore. She knew that there could be no passing of blame, but if there could have been a way to make herself look less guilty, she didn't want that. She wanted him to tell her he hated her, just so she'd know someone else felt as bad about this as she did. She wanted him to forgive her so that would make one of them. She even wanted him to do something else, yell or hit her or something else un-Fillmore, because she wanted to know he was speaking to her again.

Anza finally met up with her on one of X's many sidewalks, looking pissed. "You know you're the reason Fillmore's about to be busted, right?"

"Guilty," she replied, holding up her hands. "Guilty as charged."

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Every question was designed to throw him for a loop. Even when he actually knew the answer, he almost didn't get it right.

It was like that on purpose.

The leader, the boy with dark brown hair and tan skin, had watched him carefully and slowly for the entirety of the questioning. Mid way through, he had been joined by a girl with platinum blonde hair who handed him a large box. Within it, Fillmore glimpsed vast amounts of trading cards, but the boy was smart enough to set them aside while the questioning went on. As if he could see the black boy's stare through his own hat and the other boy's glasses, he grinned. The girl dumped the cards on the floor and began sorting them at a lightning speed, despite the Hiragana and Katakana used on the cards. She was fluent in Japanese, apparently.

This was one of many distractions they'd pulled since this began. Nothing was still, and it was never quiet. The room was warm, almost hot. Studies showed that the colder the temperture, the sharper the mind. They were prepared to slam into the ground every challenger they got.

"What is the de-evolved form of Wigglytuff during all genrations?"

"Jigglypuff," Fillmore groaned at the overly complicated sentence, but he knew from Tehama's Jigglypuff love who Wigglytuff evolved from.

"Excellent, and now the final question," the sickly looking boy now identified as Berton grinned evilly. "In the movie Mewtwo Strikes back, they added one line of dialogue to the scene where Mewtwo breaks the glass, and removed a more offensive line. What were these pieces of dialogue?"

Fillmore's eyes grew wide. That was something Anza, Danny, and Tehama couldn't have answered if their lives had depended on it.

Silence. The tan skinned boy smirked and the blonde turned to him. This was their trump card.

"I... uh..." his eyes searched the room frantically for some kind of help, something that would get him out of this. Then he grinned. All panic disappeared from his face. "This is a trick question. They added two lines of speech, one of which was 'radio Giovanni, tell him what happened!' and the other was 'let's start work on Mewthree'. They also removed two lines, one of which was Mewtwo asking, 'God, can you hear me?' and the other of which was when one of the scientists asked, 'should we kill it now?'."

Berton's eyes were as wide as saucers. He glanced back at his superiors.

The tan skinned boy laughed, a cold, uncomforting sound. In one motion, he rose from his seat and began clapping. "Excellent work. Only one other person has ever gotten that question right. That was a very amazing stroke of luck, you know."

Fillmore's eyes never left the heating vent. "I know."

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Ingrid was waiting for him behind the building.

Her clothes were still wrinkled from crawling through the vents, and there were a few minor burn marks from places where she had touched hot metal. Her hair was half stuck to her face with sweat, and half sticking up with static electricity. Her usual clothing was replaced with black jeans and an old, dark green sweatshirt that had minimized her burning and maximized her mobility while causing her to overheat faster simuletaneously. She was leaning against the wall for support, with thoughts of two things: rest and water.

"Ingrid," he said softly.

She met his eyes. He saw a haze of fear, guilt, and disgust. She hated herself right now.

He met her eyes. She saw, behind those glasses, dark eyes that radiated acceptance.

Suddenly her knees buckled under her.

His arms wrapped around her, catching her before she slammed into the ground.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"It's alright." Fillmore replied.

And somehow, in spite of everything they'd been through, everything Ingrid had done, and every action that still needed explanation, it was all going to be alright. She had his forgiveness. He had his friend back. The assignment could take a back seat for today, and the convention, and the past. There was nothing in their minds right then but a sense of fulfillment. Ingrid was smiling in a way most un-Ingrid-like, and Fillmore was feeling more sappy feelings than he'd ever felt in his life.

"I can explain everything," Ingrid told him quietly.

"Then I can listen to everything."

They smiled at each other. And in that moment, X's star duo was back together.


End file.
